


Long Way To Go

by Nope



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-03
Updated: 2003-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-23 14:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10720854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nope/pseuds/Nope
Summary: Will takes the train back to Wales, and Bran.





	Long Way To Go

_So the last magic will be this,_ says Merriman, says Gummery, says Merlin,   
all the same and all different all at once. _All that you know of the Old Ones_  
and of this great task that has been accomplished, will retreat into the hidden   
places of your minds, and you will never again know any hint of it except in   
dreams. Only Will, because he is of my calling, must remember.  
  
My Will the watchman.  
  
Only Will.  
  
Will  
  
//  
  
opened his eyes.  
  
"Bad dream," said the woman sat on the opposite side of the carriage.  
  
"No," began Will then shook his head. "Perhaps. I don't know."  
  
The woman who seemed somehow familiar now, like an actress from some half   
remembered movie, nodded as if this made perfect sense and went back to turning   
over cards.  
  
"Where are we?" asked Will looking out of the window. It was still raining, a   
continuous soporific counterpoint to the rise and fall of the train wheels that   
had left him in a half drowse since Bath.  
  
"Outside Bristol," said the woman. "Cardiff soon, see, then up into Snowdon and   
the smaller stops beyond."  
  
Will thanked her and said "I wasn't asleep long, then?"  
  
The woman tutted but gave no other reply. She turned more cards. The Magician.   
The Wheel. The Lovers. The part of Will that was as old as time shivered. The   
part that was a nineteen year old just scant months from attending Cambridge   
shrugged and turned to look out the window.  
  
Outside the glass, through the streaked blur of rain, the rolling hills were   
green and wet and marred by a tightly gripping sprawl of houses. Will watched   
for a moment, then briefly turned his attention to his reflect -- the mess of   
brown hair, the eyes too old and dark for the face in which they were set, the   
dark green-brown oilskins he had kept on because the train's heating was shot --   
before sitting back in his chair and sighing.  
  
"Far to go," said the woman, turning over the Knave of Swords.  
  
"Almost to the end of the line," agreed Will.  
  
She flashed him a look, her crystal dangling earrings making a noise like small   
wind chimes, eyes sharp and storm grey and holding none of the thin smile that   
twitched the corners of her mouth but, again, said nothing.  
  
Will leaned back in his chair, resisted the urge to sigh again, and reached into   
his pocket for the walkman. Instead of cool metal his fingers encountered paper   
and he smiled and pulled it out, unfolding it carefully, gently smoothing out   
the creases with his thumbs.  
  
It was a sketch of the four of them -- five, if you looked closely, for Barney   
had added himself into the background in a reflection -- Simon and Jane and Will   
and Bran.  
  
 _Bran,_ said Will to himself, tasting the word in his head, the kiss of the   
B, the drawled a, like farm and barn and _Bran_.  
  
There he was in the picture. There they all were, drawn perfectly from memory.   
Tall Simon on Will's left, Jane on Bran's arm on the right. Bran with his white   
shock of hair and his loose white shirt like some poet of old, dark trousers,   
dark shoes, dark glasses perched low enough on his nose to reveal the tawny,   
almost-owl eyes, the only colour in the otherwise monochromatic man. Bran, regal   
in his casually confident slouch, hands firmly in his pockets and Will standing   
at his right hand.  
  
Pulling out his Walkman, Will slipped the headphones on, keeping the volume low   
so he didn't disturb the old lady, and, to the strains of some Benjamin Britten   
piece Jane had picked out for him merging into the rain and the wheels, he   
settled back with the picture and  
  
//  
  
blinked the glare out of his eyes.  
  
It was high summer, almost blinding, although Bran was safe with his glasses as   
usual. Jane and Barney and Simon had walked on and somehow, slowly sauntering,   
Will and Bran had fallen far behind until the Drews were just small shapes   
moving through distant swaying grass. The two walked in companionable silence   
for a moment, before Bran said "Jane's grown up a bit, then."  
  
"We all have," said Will.  
  
"You? You haven't changed a bit."  
  
"I have."  
  
Bran shook his head.  
  
"I have," repeated Will. "We all have, I think. It's just that Jane is more...   
noticeable."  
  
Bran laughed at that, and then again at Will for blushing.  
  
The sun was hot and they walked. Will whistled softly to himself. Bran wiped the   
sweat from his forehead, sweeping a hand back through his hair.  
  
They'd gone maybe another three hundred yards, before Will asked quietly "You   
like Jane?"  
  
Bran looked at him for a moment, then nodded, but said nothing.  
  
Something dark scurried for a moment, disturbing the grass, and was lost from   
sight.  
  
"I like Barney," said Bran almost thoughtfully and, when Will glanced at him,   
said "He's becoming quite the artist."  
  
"He has a good eye," agreed Will.  
  
Bran nodded, stretched, yawning.  
  
"Walking tired you out already?" asked Will, somewhere between amused and   
concerned.  
  
Bran shook his head. "Not enough sleep is all. I" -- he shrugged -- "haven't   
been sleeping lately."  
  
"Bad dreams?" asked Will, almost a whisper.  
  
"Yes," said Bran then, shaking his head, "No. Maybe."  
  
"Okay," smiled Will.  
  
"Just... odd." Bran looked away towards the distant rising slopes. Cloud roiled   
around Caer Idris. He shrugged again. "Trains and trees and boats and--"  
  
"Of shoes, and ships and sealing wax," quoted Will, "Of cabbages   
and--" He broke   
off but, Bran, already laughing, didn't seem to notice.  
  
They walked on.  
  
"Old dreams," said Bran and suddenly looked hard at Will, an oddly appraising   
glance, then added "You were in some of them."  
  
"Oh?" said the Watchman.  
  
"Yes. In... robes? On your knees before me--"  
  
Will coughed, blushing, and Bran started, grinned. "Not like that, boyo. Like...   
you were my apprentice. Or I was a King and you were my... something. Knight.   
Court _dewin_."  
  
"Delusions of grandeur," proclaimed Will pompously and yelped when Bran lightly   
punched his arm.  
  
"You may have been the court jester."  
  
Bran smiled and Will smiled back. "So, I'm on my knees, huh?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But not like that."  
  
Bran shook his head and pointed and Will saw the Drews had stopped and were   
waving at them.  
  
"Come on, I'll race you," said Bran and raised a hand to the Drews and, for a   
moment, the sun through his fingers made it seem like he had a hand full of   
light.  
  
"It's too hot to run," complained Will.  
  
"Coward," said Bran, lengthening his stride, and then glanced back. "Will?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Sometimes like that," he said and, grinning, broke into a run.  
  
Will stood back for a moment, watching the sun crowned boy cut through the   
grass, then, almost of their own accord, his feet made him follow quickly after  
  
//  
  
the platform at Tywyn was small, windy and green and the rain had faded to a   
thin drizzle that made him think of October and his first look at the place many   
years before. Will hefted his bag over his shoulder, looking around, expecting   
to be met by John Rowlands or someone, but the platform was empty. The train   
steamed, creaked and clicked behind him. Will glanced back as it began to move,   
but could see nothing; the train appeared as empty as the platform--  
  
\--wasn't.  
  
"Well met, Will Stanton."  
  
" _Croeso._ "  
  
They exchanged sunny smiles through the rain and Will  
  
//  
  
opened his eyes.


End file.
